


I said you numb my feelings and now I feel okay

by psychedelia



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Bongs, M/M, Marijuana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 00:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelia/pseuds/psychedelia
Summary: Dinesh doesn't know how to light a bong and Gilfoyle knows this.





	I said you numb my feelings and now I feel okay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kokopellifacetattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokopellifacetattoo/gifts).

The thing is, the absolute bullshittery of their strange enforced rivalry means that Dinesh knows, even as the words "You guys are doing bong rips?" come out of his mouth, that the slow, lazy twitch of Gilfoyle's lips as he turns to face him means he's in  _ deep shit _ . 

Here's the thing about Gilfoyle: just about no one knows what the man's emotional state is at any given moment, so Dinesh's outraged responses at him tend to have a baffling effect on everyone in the Incubator thinking he's overreacting and being sensitive. But the  _ thing is _ , the unfortunate truth of Dinesh's awful life is that somehow, inexplicably, this caricature of a serial-killer-in-the-making is his best friend, and he's learned over the past few years just how to read the miniscule microexpressions that occasionally grace Gilfoyle's normally stoic features. 

So the fact that he smiles, smiles big enough for even Richard, who barely dares to look anyone in the eyes on a good day, to take note of it, means Gilfoyle's planning something. And it's never good when Gilfoyle plans anything. The man is a sadistic 12 year old at the worst of times. 

"Yeah," He says, and holds out a startlingly short piece. Dinesh doesn't recognize it as one of Erlich's over the top, ostentatious pieces. No, it's about eight or nine inches tall, fat, and deep midnight black. Gilfoyle dangles it in front of Dinesh from where he's lounging on a bean bag chair, and Dinesh's expression tightens. "You get the greens." 

There's a sparkle in his eyes despite the seemingly kind gesture. 

_ Oh.  _

That's his awful fucking play. The mother fucker. He gives a nervous laugh and tries to take a casual step back, managing to nearly trip over the work desk behind him. "Where did you even get that, you creep? Aleister Crowley's fucking wet asshole?"

"Dinesh," Gilfoyle says, and his smile grows wider. "it doesn't really matter who's sloppy asshole I dug this out of,  _ you get the greens _ ." 

Bighead, the little fucking prick, makes an  _ oohing _ sound and says, "Dinesh, that's a big honor. I got greens once and-- well okay, it turned out to be oregano and I was sick for the rest of the night because it turns out fourteen year olds don't actually usually have access to sell, but it was still an  _ honor _ , you know?" He's practically laying in Richard's lap, because Richard is a freak when it came to anyone touching him unless it was Bighead or Jared evidently. And Jared, in no uncertain terms, isn't going to lay around the living room playing the role of stoner tonight. 

Which, as he's thinking it, of course the man walks in, owlishly blinking at the offering Gilfoyle is giving him. Terrible fucking timing. Goddamn Jared. Wearing some stupid fucking vest that looks like it was purchased at the Gap in 1998.

"You know, Dinesh," Jared says in that 1950's mom-voice that grates on everyone's fucking nerves except Richard and his little Richie evidently, "Bighead is right. According to social etiquette among the 'stoners' of Southern California, being gifted a freshly packed pipe is a  _ huge  _ honor." 

Gilfoyle jerks the bong at Dinesh again. "Yeah. I respect you too much not to gift you a freshly packed pipe because of my social etiquette." he takes a massive swig from his pint glass, rubbing the ends of his flannel over his mouth. 

_ 'Fucking dick,'  _ Dinesh mouths at him and grabs the bong roughly. Even if everyone else is oblivious, Dinesh wants Gilfoyle to know he knows. Which is always the worst decision, because Gilfoyle thrives off knowing his prey is aware of its incoming death. 

It's no honor, Dinesh knows, because Gilfoyle knows that Dinesh, truth be told, has  _ always  _ been atrocious at smoking, and has always been a lightweight to boot. And now he has six men waiting expectantly for him to light this up so they can continue with the evening. 

He holds it for a while, almost frozen to the spot, and tries to ramble his way out of it by insulting Gilfoyle, saying, "You know, this is so fucking phallic, Gilfoyle, it's horrendous and--" 

"Just light it." He interrupts Dinesh, and slowly leans forward, holding out the lighter for him to take. 

"Dude, c'mon," Erlich whines from the corner. 

Dinesh sucks on the inside of his cheek for a moment and weighs his options. Either he fails to light it, chokes in lighting it too hard, or does something wrong and breaks it or wastes the weed. All of these options: uncool to the max. 

But there's a fourth option, and as Gilfoyle leans forward some more, Dinesh realizes all too suddenly where this is going and wants to scream. Instead of letting Dinesh figure it out, he says placidly, "Don't worry, man. I got you," and stands to meet him, moving the bong lip to Dinesh's mouth and resting the lighter against the edge of the bowl. 

"What the fuck is happening?" Dinesh, distantly, can hear Richard ask, and numbly, he can hear Jared and Bighead trying to over explain  _ something _ . 

But Dinesh isn't paying attention to them, because Gilfoyle is lighting the chamber and wrapping his hand around Dinesh's, the one that's holding the bong, and he says calmly, "Pull." 

If he wasn't about to have a goddamn panic attack, he might be able to interpret the  _ look _ in Gilfoyle's comically magnified eyes, but he's too busy realizing how close they are, how much they're touching, the fact that Gilfoyle has made him into a weed-pussy, all of it combined, and he's furious and…. Something else that he's not going to examine. 

And then smoke is pummeling into his lungs and in one fluid motion, Gilfoyle extracts the bong from him and continues to pull, the chamber still lit. His voice smoke-thick, he says, "You don't need more than one hit," and sits back down to pass the bong to Richard. 

Dinesh just kind of stands there for a moment, smoke choking out of him all at once while Gilfoyle looks at him smoothly and curls smoke out of his nostrils like a demonic dragon. 

"Jesus Christ, Gilfoyle. You might as well have blew smoke into his mouth like you were frenching a girl. Fuck." Erlich gapes at them, and Dinesh slowly sits down in one of the spinning chairs, his head light and his heart pounding. 

"He doesn't know how to light a bong. I just taught him." Gilfoyle says without looking away from Dinesh. 

"Yeah, I think you taught his fucking dick something too. Goddamn." 

By the time the bong gets passed his way, despite Gilfoyle's words, Dinesh takes another pull, the bowl still lit from Bighead's admittedly respectable skills with a bong. He officially needs to get as far away from the Earth in whatever way possible tonight, because, despite their ribbing, Erlich is  _ Right  _ and he doesn't know what to do about that. 

And now how can he possibly explain to anyone that he maybe sorta found out he's clearly into his satanic enemy because he's a pussy when it comes to weed? Fuck, he hates Gilfoyle so goddamn much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry


End file.
